


Phil Coulson and the Master of Death

by hannahsoapy



Series: things I scribbled when I should've been studying [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: BAMF Phil Coulson, F/M, Fanboy Phil Coulson, Female Harry Potter, I Don't Even Know, Master of Death Harry Potter, Minor Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Phil Coulson is a Squib, The Deathly Hallows, What Happened in Budapest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2019-07-16 04:36:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16078562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahsoapy/pseuds/hannahsoapy
Summary: Phil Coulson is SHIELD's new liaison to the Ministry of Magic. He might also be a squib, but he knows better than to break the International Statute of Secrecy.





	1. Many Meetings

When Nicholas J. Fury took over as Director of SHIELD, there were a few things his predecessor had never explained to him. Mostly because **REDACTED.**

 

So, the new Director Fury had a few orders of business he had to take care of upon assuming the mantle. One of them being introducing himself to the various governments and other organizations that SHIELD wanted to play nice with.

 

Of course, he couldn’t possibly visit all of them himself, which was why he was sitting with his new deputy and head agent, Phil Coulson and Maria Hill, respectively, and divvying them up.

 

The next set of organizations on the list drew a bark of disbelief from him.

 

Coulson looked at him inquisitively. “What is it?”

 

“Tell me this is a prank,” Fury said, sliding the sheet over to him.

 

“Everyone’s too terrified of you to prank you, Director,” Coulson said, with a hint of amusement, but he took the paper.

 

“That little shit, Barton, isn’t,” Fury muttered. Coulson smiled indulgently at the name of the newbie agent he’d brought in a few weeks ago. Fury was right; Barton wasn’t the least bit intimidated, but he knew the archer wouldn’t risk pissing off the director until he’d proved himself.

 

“No, I don’t think this is a prank,” Coulson said mildly, passing the paper back.

 

“Fuck,” said Fury.

 

“Who exactly do we have to talk to?” Hill asked, a bit warily.

 

“The Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards,” Fury read off of the paper. “And the Minister of Magic in Britain, and the President of… someplace that likes acronyms almost as much as we do.”

 

“Wizards,” Hill said hesitantly.

 

“Wizards,” Coulson confirmed, looking almost pleased.

 

“Wizards,” Fury parroted with a sigh. “I suppose I’ll have to take the… Supreme Mugwump, but the other two-“

 

“Minister of Magic!” Coulson exclaimed, raising his hand to call dibs. Hill glared at him.

 

“Move a little faster next time, Hill,” Fury said, handing her the very thin file detailing how to contact the President of MACUSA. She sighed in resignation. Coulson was still grinning triumphantly.

 

“Don’t go all fanboy on the wizards, will ya, Coulson?” Fury ordered, sliding his file across the table.

 

“I’ll do my best, sir.”

 

 

* * *

Phillip J. Coulson was a very ordinary looking man, on first glance. Even on second glance, people didn’t generally notice anything remarkable about him. It was an ability that served him very well in his current position.

 

Coulson himself wouldn’t have said that he was anything extraordinary, but he wasn’t one to brag.

 

But the truth was, Phillip J. Coulson was intimately connected to the Wizarding World. Of course, he had always adhered very strictly to the Statute of Secrecy, so no one knew. (Although he’d barely contained his excitement when he’d read the paper Director Fury had passed him.) And Agent Phil Coulson was most certainly not what the Ministry of Magic was expecting from a muggle organization.

 

 

 

 

Phil shook hands with Minister Shacklebolt, and Head Auror Potter, and then, with a weary sigh, said, “You don’t happen to have any Firewhiskey, do you? It’s been a long day.”

 

Minister Shacklebolt appeared taken aback, but Auror Potter laughed, and with a quick flick of her wand, tumblers appeared in front of each of them.

 

“Thank you,” Phil said gratefully, taking his.

 

“I apologize,” the Minister said. “We were unaware that there were any wizards in SHIELD.”

 

“Oh, there aren’t any. I’m a squib,” he clarified, sipping his whiskey. “And can I say, Auror Potter, I’m a huge fan of your work.”

 

“People usually are,” Auror Potter said, mouth twisting wryly over her glass.

 

Phil, immediately seeing he’d not said something right, spoke quickly.

 

“No, I mean, not just that, um… I subscribe to the Quibbler?”

 

Auror Potter blinked at him in surprise. The Quibbler remained the only publication that reported her doings accurately, and it was the only one that the auror would give private interviews to.

 

“I didn’t know the Quibbler had gone international,” she said, finally.

 

“A few years ago,” Phil shrugged. “Right around when the daughter took over.”

 

“Huh,” said the auror, considering the agent, and she gave him a small smile. “Call me Harry.”

 

“Phil,” said Phil, smiling back.

 

“Well,” said Minister Shacklebolt, eyes twinkling, “I believe this does save us a lot of time. I assume you are already familiar with Ministry policies?”

 

“Oh, yes,” Phil said, “MACUSA’s even stricter than the Ministry on that front.”

 

“You could say that again,” said Harry, rolling her eyes. “A witch can barely cross the street over there without getting a fine.”

 

“That was entirely your fault, Potter,” Minister Shacklebolt glanced at her admonishingly, and Harry took a sip of her Firewhiskey defiantly. Phil glanced between them, curious, but didn’t inquire.

 

Harry then swished her wand, and a slim file appeared in the air in front of her. She snagged it, and handed it to Phil.

 

“This is the current list of suspects at large that we’d like you to keep an eye out for,” she explained, as Phil curiously flipped open the manila folder. “It’s a copy of a file we have here, and will reflect any updates we make. The tab on the side will turn red if any changes have been made.”

 

Phil nodded absentmindedly, giving the profiles a cursory glance.

 

“And you’ll need one of these-,” she dug a blank business card out of her robes, “-if there’s ever a need to get in touch me quickly. It’s got a very clever variant of the Protean charm on it. It’ll send me a message on my own card, and you don’t even need a wand, just say my name, your message, and then your own name.”

 

He took the card reverently.

 

“The work of Ms. Granger, I presume?”

 

“The very one,” Harry beamed at him appreciatively. “I think I’ll enjoy working with you, Phil.”

 

“Likewise, Harry.”


	2. Findings and Suspicions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are found. Suspicions are formed. I take my chapter titles literally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, if I listened to you people, I'd drop out of school and write fanfic full-time, lol. But seriously, thanks for all the love you guys! It's so nice to post something and have so much positive feedback! My baby plot bunny has all growed up and is ravenously devouring my brain, so this is a thing that's happening.
> 
> If you're one of those people who needs to know 'the timeline', I'm being vague about it on purpose, because I'm terrible at paying attention to them. Obviously, this is taking place years before the Avengers are in the picture (but we'll get there eventually), and, if you've watched 'Agents of SHIELD', this is even before Agent May becomes the 'Cavalry', but that event is in the near future. So maybe in the MCU timeline, it's like, early 2008, just before Ironman? I am planning on throwing some AoS stuff in here, but I'm gonna change things up. For one thing, Grant Ward is never getting on the Bus! (so, sorry if you liked him, I guess?)

It was a while before Phil actually saw Harry in person again.

There was one incident where her Aurors had stumbled across some members of an international terrorist group SHIELD was after, and his card had heated up in his pocket, displaying an address where they could retrieve the incapacitated criminals.

The retrieval had gone perfectly, but he hadn't seen the witch anywhere.

Almost a year after their initial meeting, he got a call from Barton.

"Coulson, I've got a sitch," Barton said, without preamble.

"When do you not?"

"Awww, Coulson," Clint groaned down the line. Phil's lips twitched.

"All right, what is it?"

"You know the job I'm on right now?"

"Budapest, yes, I'm your handler Barton. We're coming in for your extraction at oh-seven-hundred. What's wrong?"

"I, uh, may have picked up a plus one."

There was a pause.

"Right. Who is she?"

"I didn't say they were a she," Clint said grumpily. Phil waited.

"Natalia Romanova," he admitted.

"Black Widow," Phil stated blankly.

"Yuuup, that's the one."

Phil sighed, and plunked his head in his hand.

"C'mon Coulson, she's good, she wants to change. You gave me a chance, and I shot you first."

"Barely. It was a flesh wound."

"I wasn't shootin' to kill, just maim, or injure." Phil could hear Clint's grin in his voice.

"What else?" He insisted. "Don't tell me there's nothing else, I know there's something."

Clint grew quiet for a moment.

"Someone's doing some weird cultish ritual shit, boss. We found a couple bodies. Kids. It's not pretty."

"Okay," Phil said heavily. "Sit tight. We'll be there in a few hours."

"We? You bringing Melinda?"

"Yes, Barton, I'm bringing Agent May."

"Yes!"

"Keep yourself out of trouble until we're there."

"I'll try, boss."

Phil smiled faintly and shook his head as he hung up.

"Barton in over his head again?" called a voice from the cockpit of the jet. Phil strode in, and sat in the co-pilot's seat.

"As usual," he said to Agent May, as she corrected their course to Budapest. "Serial ritualistic murders. And he's recruited the Black Widow."

His statement drew a laugh from the other agent.

"I don't envy you explaining this one to the director."

"Neither do I," Phil said, ruefully.

* * *

They arrived in Budapest two hours and forty-five minutes later, and quickly located the hotel room where Barton had sequestered himself with the Black Widow. Barton jumped up as soon as they entered. Phil nodded at him, and he sat back down.

Natalia Romanova, the Black Widow, was sitting in the chair by the desk, facing them, arms and legs crossed protectively, and her gaze flicking between Phil and May.

"I'm Agent Phil Coulson, Ms. Romanova," Phil said. "Would you like to tell me why you're here?"

She was very good; her face gave absolutely nothing away.

"There is red in my ledger," she said evenly. "I want to wipe it out."

It was a good answer, but Phil caught Barton's slight shifting from the corner of his eye.

"Try again," he told the turncoat assassin. A small widening of her eyes was all the sign that he'd caught her off guard.

Surprising him, she briefly glanced at Barton first, who nodded minutely, before replying.

"The little girls," she said, barest hint of an accent bleeding through. May tensed next to Phil. "It was wrong. They should have been children."

"But you were a product of the Red Room yourself," Phil prompted, digging for more.

"That is a reason to support it?"

"You took it all down yourself," May said, stating it just as Phil realized it himself. Romanova's mouth tightened briefly.

"I had help, but… he is gone, now."

Phil briefly wondered what she'd meant by that, but he'd already made up his mind.

"Then welcome to SHIELD, Agent Romanova."

"Yes!" Barton crowed, fist punching the air.

Romanova and May simultaneously rolled their eyes, and Phil knew he'd made the right choice.

"So then, cult ritual?"

* * *

Barton and Romanova led them to a dilapidated warehouse in an abandoned industrial park next to the Danube*. The giant metal sliding door made no noise as it slid open on rusted rails. Phil exchanged a glance with May.

The majority of the warehouse was empty, with some old shelving units back up against one wall, creating a large open space in the middle. There wasn't anything there, that Phil could see.

In front of him, Barton's shoulders dropped.

"Damn. They were here, the bodies, I mean, right there." He pointed to the center of the open space. There was nothing there now. Not a single thing to suggest anything had ever happened there. The cement floor was clean, practically sparklingly so. Phil's eyes narrowed at it.

"What exactly did they look like? What made you think it was a cult ritual?"

"There were three of 'em. Looked like street kids; their clothes were all ratty. They were laid flat on their backs, but their hands were all linked, so they were making a circle, sort of, and there were weird symbols drawn all over… in blood." Barton shuddered a little, looking around as if he expected them to pop out.

"I believe you, Barton, but it is difficult that we have nothing to go on here."

"My phone died the second I got in here, or I would've taken pictures," Barton muttered resentfully.

"Could you draw the symbols you saw?" May asked abruptly.

"Yes," Romanova and Barton said, eerily in sync.

"Great," May said with relief. "Let's go, then, this place is making my spine itch."

* * *

Back at the hotel again, Barton handed Phil the sheet of paper that he and Romanova had labored over, recreating on it all the symbols they'd seen at the warehouse. Phil glanced over it, not recognizing anything he'd come across before, and frowned. May, peering over his shoulder, shook her head.

"I got nothing, Coulson. We'd better send it back in to analytics."

Phil wanted to agree with her, but there was something telling him not to. He'd missed something. Something that had to do with the clean floor, the quiet door, and Barton's dead phone.

"Oh," Romanova said suddenly, taking the paper back. "There was also this."

Phil watched as she drew a line, a circle, and then, a triangle.

"Hmmm, haven't seen that before, either. Coulson?" May turned to him.

Phil let out a long breath, reached into his inner coat pocket, and pulled out a blank business card.

"It means I need to call in a friend."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The Danube is a river that cuts through Budapest.
> 
> Harry will be back in the next chapter, don't worry :)


	3. Past Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School's been a bit busy, but I've found a bit of time to write here and there, so have another chapter! 
> 
> I've never been to Budapest, but Fovam Square looked nice on Google Maps.

Harry, in the middle of a meeting, felt her pocket start burning. She shifted awkwardly to get some space between her body and her robes, and drew an irritated glance from Fredricks, the Head Unspeakable. She pointedly ignored it.

The moment the Department Heads meeting was over, she was out the door and down the hall, headed back to her office, steps quick and purposeful. Phil hadn't ever used the Protean-charmed business card to contact her before. As she entered the offices of the DMLE, one of the Aurors stood as if to get her attention, and then, upon seeing her expression, promptly sat back down.

Finally sequestered in her (rather messy) office, she pulled out the previously blank business card.

_Harry_ , it now read.

_Fovam Square, Budapest, 10 am tomorrow. Hallows symbol found on bodies._

_Phil_

Harry slumped back in her seat, and fiddled with the corner of the card for a minute, deep in thought. Then she shook her head, jumped up, and flung open her office door.

"Draco!" she shouted.

The man in question leapt to his feet, and sauntered into her office. He very leisurely took a seat, and waited, brow upraised.

"I'm taking a case," Harry said.

"And you're bringing me on, too? Excellent choice."

"No, I'm taking Ron."

"Pardon?" Draco said icily. "I thought I just heard you say-"

"Malfoy, I'm leaving you in charge of the department while I'm gone," Harry cut him off. Draco blinked at her in surprise, and then gathered himself.

"Did you just call me Malfoy? I'm wounded, Harry, I thought we were friends."

" _Draco_ ," she emphasized, looking at him seriously. "I wouldn't trust my department to anyone else."

"Oh, alright then," Draco said, mollified. "But you'd better bring me back a souvenir."

Harry smiled. "Sure. Send Ron in, when you see him?"

"Anything for you, oh Savior!" Draco flourished a bow as he left.

Harry rolled her eyes at him, and bent to scribble a note, and find her owl.

* * *

At precisely nine fifty the next morning, a wizard and a witch silently and invisibly appeared in an alley near Fovam Square, Budapest.

After looking round to make sure passers-by were not looking their direction, Harry whipped the Cloak off of herself and Ron, and stuffed it back into her moleskine bag.

"Shall we get a coffee? I've not had any yet," Ron said, yawning into his hand.

"Merlin, yes," Harry agreed. It was only an hour's time difference, but she had gone into the office early to make sure things were organized for Draco.

They exited the alley, and, conveniently finding themselves next to a little cafe, they were very soon gratefully sipping espressos.

"Sorry I'm late," a voice came from behind Ron, who spluttered at the agent's quiet approach.

"We were early, Phil," Harry reassured him. "Have a seat."

Phil grabbed a little chair from the next table, and joined them.

"Phil Coulson," he said, holding his hand out to Ron.

"Ron Weasley." Ron shook Phil's hand genially. Phil looked a little flustered at meeting another member of the famous 'Golden Trio', but he rallied quickly.

"What did you find, then?" Harry asked, getting straight to the point. Phil's hand went to his suit pocket, and then he paused.

"You've put up some, ah…"

"Yes, I've a few charms up, go ahead," Harry confirmed.

"When'd you do that?" Ron said, glancing around. "Oh, never mind." Harry smiled at him over her coffee cup, and he grumbled good-naturedly. Phil pulled the sheet of paper with the symbols on it out of his pocket and slid it across the table. Ron and Harry leaned over it, glancing over the drawings.

"Harry…" Ron said slowly, his eyes caught on one in particular. "You didn't say this was about the Hallows."

"I was hoping it was a mistake," Harry said to Ron, and glanced at Phil.

"No," Phil shook his head, "Romanova said it was carved into all three of the bodies. No mistake."

Harry nodded jerkily, twisting a strand of her black hair. She was staring at the paper, gaze unfocused.

"We'll need Hermione on this one, Harry. Not that it says much, but these aren't any runes I recognize."

"I thought we might; I sent her an owl last night," Harry admitted, still with a glazed look in her green eyes. "Do you mind if I take this?"

"No, go ahead, we've got a digital copy already," Phil waved his hand at the paper.

"That's the, ah, thing with the computers?"

"Yes, Ron," said Harry, laughing at his ignorance of muggle terms. Ron looked a little abashed, but also pleased with himself for having got Harry distracted from the Hallows.

Phil didn't really want to interrupt the mood, but they did have a job to do.

"Would you like to see where my agents found these? You might find something we missed."

"Yes, I suppose we ought to have a look," Harry said resignedly. "Lead the way, Phil!"

* * *

Barton had been waiting in the car, and he got out as they approached.

"Barton, these are Aurors Potter and Weasley," Phil said, introducing them. "Potter, Weasley, this is Agent Barton, he called in the bodies."

"Is that a quiver?" Ron asked as he shook Barton's hand, looking curiously at the arrow fletchings peeking out from behind Barton's back.

"Sure is," Barton said, with a self-satisfied smile.

"That's a very odd choice of weapon," Harry said, with a bemused smile, as they got in the car.

"I grew up doin' it," Barton shrugged. "I'm the best." He didn't say it as if he was bragging, although he could have; he was the best SHIELD had, with a bow and any other long-range weapon.

The rest of the ride, Barton described what he and Romanova had seen in the warehouse to the two Aurors. Ron scribbled notes as quickly as he could with a pen, as Harry asked minute questions about the placement of the runes.

(The muggle invention of pens had become very popular recently, although wizards had taken to using other materials, such as wood, or glass, to make them with, since plastic was notoriously difficult to enchant.)

Phil pulled up next to another car, in an alley with a view of the warehouse. May and Romanova stepped out as they did.

"Anything?"

"No movement," May reported.

"Good. Potter, Weasley, this is May, and Romanova." They nodded at each other. "I'll be taking them in," Phil continued. "Their… department will be taking over this case."

Two of the three agents being left behind were very good at concealing their desire for more information. Phil turned away from Barton's frown and headed toward the warehouse.

* * *

"What do they know?" Harry asked, as Phil slid the warehouse door open for her. She looked at the silent rusty rails with the same skepticism that Phil had the day before.

"Nothing except what you've heard me tell them," Phil said, following them inside.

"Hmmm," said Harry, seeming to get distracted, bee-lining for the open space in the middle of the warehouse. Ron was already skirting the perimeter, wand up, scanning for something.

Phil followed Harry, now crouched to look at the clean concrete.

"You saw this, didn't you?" she said, tapping the floor thoughtfully.

He nodded. "It… shimmers."

"Must have been a hell of a spell," Ron called, making his way to them. "They had containment wards up."

"That'll make this easier. Let's see what they were containing, then," Harry smirked, and took a few steps back. Phil and Ron followed suit, both of them moving a bit farther away. Harry drew her wand and began walking a small circle, muttering something as she did. She stopped once she'd gone full circle, and made one final gesture with her wand.

Images of light sprung up from the floor, and the runes that Barton and Romanova had drawn rose up arranged in circles. The light formed the images of the bodies, too, with the symbol of the Deathly Hallows, and in the middle was a small round object that resembled a ring.

"I suppose we know what they're after, then," Harry said quietly.

" _Merlin_ ," said Ron, expressively.

"What is it, exactly?" Phil asked, leaning closer to get a better look at the ring.

" _That_ is the Resurrection Stone," Harry glared at it.

"It's also supposed to be lost in the Forbidden Forest," Ron added helpfully.

"I see. Well, it looks like they found a quicker way to get it than combing through an entire forest," Phil pointed out.

"True," Harry agreed, and waved her wand again, dissipating the images. She turned to face Phil. "I hate to ask, but… will you keep an eye out around here?"

"Of course," he said. Harry looked relieved.

"Thank you," she said gratefully, running her fingers through her hair with a sigh. "We'll let you know the moment we find something."

Ron laughed as he offered his elbow to Harry. "More like as soon as 'Mione finds something."

Harry smiled brilliantly at Phil, who found himself smiling back involuntarily, and then, with a noise like a hand clap, they vanished.

Phil stood smiling at the empty space for a second before recollecting himself.

He had a team to debrief.


	4. Some Conversations Are Had

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last, another chapter! Sorry for the wait, guys. My grad school is on the quarter system, so finals week is here. It sucks. I really appreciate all your kudos, comments, etc. They're better than Chocolate Frog cards :)

His agents were waiting for him, appearing as deceptively casual as they could in an abandoned alley. How Barton managed to do it from the roof of an SUV was a mystery, though.

"Let me guess," Barton spoke before Phil could get a word out. "You could tell us, but then you'd have to kill us."

"That's a slight exaggeration, but they would make sure you forgot it," Phil sighed. "Potter and Weasley represent a secret, highly specialized group of people."

"So, they wouldn't kill me?" Barton pressed.

"They were not SHIELD," Romanova pointed out, ignoring Barton, her face unreadable.

"Yes," said Phil. "And I probably shouldn't have even told you that much. We're on surveillance until they get back."

"They left? How?" May said, surprised. Phil gave her a look. "Right," she waved a hand at him. "Classified."

"Sorry, May."

"Cool," Barton said, after a moment of silence. "I'll go find a perch, then. Coming, Nat?"

The Black Widow lazily pushed away from the wall she was leaning on. Phil tossed Barton the keys to one of the cars, and the two drove off.

"I suppose I'm surprised there still is anything that's classified to me," May said, watching Phil carefully.

Phil's mouth pursed before he answered. It was highly likely that he'd get clearance to tell them about the wizarding world, with the way this case was going, but he didn't have it at the moment.

"It's currently restricted to myself, Hill, and Fury. We're not authorized to disclose anything to anyone else… yet."

"Alright, then, I won't bother you about it." She paused. "Are you sure we trust her?" May tilted her head toward the direction Romanova and Barton had headed.

"I trust Barton," Phil said shortly.

"And?"

Phil's fingers fidgeted, and he crossed his arms to stop them.

"Barton trusts her, and until I trust her myself, I can depend on his."

May shook her head. "You're really something else, Phil."

He smiled. "I do my best, Melinda."

* * *

Ron had cleanly apparated them into the Ministry without a stumble, and they headed to the lift, squishing in with the crowd returning from their lunch break.

(While the rest of the Ministry's employees had to use the Floo, or the various odd entrances hidden around muggle London, Aurors had a specially warded room off the Atrium that they could apparate into and out of. It was the envy of every other department.)

"Figure Hermione's worked through lunch again?" Ron asked as he punched the button for her floor.

"Of course she did," Harry snorted. "We'll make it a working lunch."

Sure enough, when they cautiously peeked into Hermione's office, the third of their trio was still diligently slaving over some paperwork, and did not even notice when they walked in and stood directly in front of her desk.

"Shall we stop by my office and see how Draco is getting on before we get lunch?" Harry asked loudly, with a mischievous smile.

Hermione abruptly jerked up, upsetting the stack of paperwork next to her, and groaned in disappointment as it toppled over.

"Harry!" she cried out indignantly, but Harry had already directed her wand at the stack, and it reformed in a neat pile on her desk.

"She did get you, 'Mione," Ron said, with a chuckle.

"What time is it?" Hermione sighed wearily, rubbing her forehead.

"Past lunch," Harry told her. "Let's go, we're getting food."

Hermione opened her mouth as if to protest, but Ron caught her eye and shook his head with wide eyes, making a motion with his hand to say nothing. She grabbed her purse and stood.

"Where are we going?"

"Oh, I don't care. Ron, you pick," Harry said dismissively, leading the way.

"I always pick the same place, you know."

"Do you?"

"Yes, he does. Are we not stopping by your office?" Hermione asked as they walked past the turn that would have taken them there.

"No. Why?" Harry asked.

"No reason," Hermione coughed.

"Merlin, just ask the stupid blonde prat out already! You've been flying circles round each other for ages!"

"I… what?"

"Ron has a point, Hermione," Harry said. "If he won't wizard up and ask, you had better, or Ron and I will resort to just locking you two in a broom closet."

"Oh," Hermione said, looking a bit shaken up by her friends' exclamations. "You think?"

"Yes, we think," Harry patted her on the shoulder consolingly. "But maybe wait until after you've helped us with our case?"

"Research?" Hermione perked up at the thought.

"Loads of it," Harry promised her, stepping into the empty lift.

"Yeah," said Ron, as the lift clanked its way down, "and while we're talking about the case, Harry, perhaps you tell us about Agent _Phil_."

"Phil?" Hermione asked curiously, with a horrible, horrible gleam in her eye reminiscent of Mrs. Weasley. Harry groaned and threw her head back.

"Phil," Ron continued with glee. "He hardly looked at me the entire time."

"Is that so?"

"He's quite fit, too."

Harry most emphatically tried not to blush, and failed horribly. Luckily, they'd reached the Atrium, and she escaped through the opening doors, followed by her friends' laughter.

As it turned out, Ron did always pick the same place. Nando's, specifically, in muggle London. It was DMLE protocol, actually, if they were discussing cases outside the office, to do it in a muggle area. It was much easier to ensure nobody was eavesdropping on Auror business that way. The three high-profile war heroes especially, if seen together, were always bothered by well-wishers, fans, and busybodies. (Harry only made that mistake one time.)

Hermione managed to hold out until after they'd ordered their food before demanding to see what they'd got. Harry passed her the paper silently, and waited as she perused it, expression growing more troubled.

"Summoning the Hallows? This is very, very Dark stuff," Hermione stated, finally looking up from the runes.

"That's the ticket," said Ron. Harry snorted.

"For some reason, I don't feel like we're winning a prize here."

"We'll start at Hogwarts," Hermione tapped the runes with a finger decisively. "I don't think the library will have anything on this ritual, but it'll be a good place to start."

"Must we?" Ron asked, as Harry groaned and slid down in her seat. Hermione glared at them.

"Alright, alright," Harry conceded. "We won't let you face the mobs alone."

"I knew you wouldn't. Besides, there's a Quidditch game tomorrow. Slytherin and Ravenclaw. We can get in and out without anyone the wiser," she said triumphantly, as their food arrived.

"Better knock your wand on that one," Ron said, tucking into his chicken. "Things never work out that easy for us."

"I wish you weren't right," Hermione admitted, watching Ron fit a truly impressive amount of food in his mouth. "Now, Harry. What's this I hear about someone called Phil?"

Harry promptly emulated Ron.

* * *

"He surprised me," Natasha said.

"Who, Coulson?" Clint asked, jogging up the next flight of stairs in the stairwell. Natasha kept pace behind him. "Yeah, he does that. Dude pulls off the 'mild mannered Clark Kent' act better than anyone I know."

He stopped at the next floor and pulled open the exit door, wincing when it screeched on its hinges. The floor they entered was bare; some makeshift two-by-four walls, and plastic sheeting stirring gently as the breeze wafted through was all that was there. Natasha trailed Clint as he strode quickly through the construction.

"It just… feels too easy."

Clint looked back at her. "Oh, it won't be. He'll test you."

"Did you pass?"

"Hell, no. I failed," Clint laughed. "But he wanted me to, or something. I'm not sure. I'm still here, aren't I?"

Natasha frowned, and raised an eyebrow, seeming unconvinced. Clint finally found what he was looking for-a window with an unobstructed view of the warehouse. He settled down in position, and she joined him.

"Did you notice Coulson kept looking at Potter?"

"You were the one in the car with them," Natasha replied evenly.

"Thought she was wearing contacts, at first. Never seen anyone with eyes that green."

"They were very green."

"She kept looking at him, too."

"You are a child," Natasha accused, but her lips curled up as she said it. Clint laughed.

* * *

A knock sounded on a basement door. No particular movement was heard, and the witch that had knocked crossed her arms and glared at the door. She leaned down, and put her ear to the door. Still, nothing could be heard, and the witch sighed in frustration.

The door suddenly whipped open, and she nearly fell into the man standing on the other side. She caught herself on the frame, and looked up, frightened, at his menacing visage.

"What do you want?"

"Is my brother down there?" she asked, voice trembling slightly.

"He's busy," the wizard snapped, and his eyes flashed at her dangerously. "We have much work to do. If you want to make yourself useful, you could fix us dinner."

He shut the door firmly before she could protest.

"What have you got into?" she whispered, left staring forlornly at the Imperturbed door.


	5. Nothing Much Seems to Happen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean to let this go for so long, but I had a really stressful quarter at school, and I reached a point with this story that I knew I was going to have to take a break and do a little more world building. I've got plans for several other stories that will tie into this AU, and I need to make sure they all flow together. (It's harder than you think, guys!)
> 
> Next up, I've got plans for a Captain America fic where he's a squib. If you have an opinion on who I should pair him with, lmk in a comment! I'm thinking Ginny, since Steve totally has a thing for badass women ;)
> 
> Finally, I got a review on ff.net asking why I'm calling fem!Harry, Harry. Well, it's mostly because I'm lazy, haha. I know in other fem!Harry fics they pick a more girly name that Harry is short for, but I couldn't find one I liked that wasn't overused, so I decided what the hell, she can just be Harry. If you want to imagine it's short for something, be my guest!

"I can't believe there's nothing here!" Hermione exclaimed, throwing the last book aside, startling Harry awake. They were surrounded by a modest pile of books, on the floor in the Restricted Section. Harry had finished skimming through her assigned stack and had taken the opportunity to briefly shut her eyes. Apparently, it hadn't been so brief, since Hermione had gone through the three books she'd had remaining when Harry had first drifted off.

"Does this mean we can have a break for tea?"

"Honestly, Ron, you just ate lunch an hour ago."

"Lunch was _two_ hours ago, Hermione. That makes it tea time."

Harry cleared her throat loudly before they could escalate. "We could ask Dumbledore's portrait? If there were books about the Hallows here, he might have removed them with the Horcrux books."

"Or even before that," Hermione said, contemplatively, and then she jumped up eagerly, swishing her wand at the books scattered around them, causing them to float back to their places on the shelves. "Come on, then. No time to waste."

McGonagall's office was empty, as the Quidditch match was still ongoing, so they made their way directly to Dumbledore's portrait. He was sitting back in his chair contentedly, eyes closed, humming an opera piece. Harry stepped forward.

"Dumbledore?"

He opened his eyes, smiling genially. "Harry, my dear! How kind of you to visit."

"Right," Harry said, feeling a bit embarrassed. She didn't visit his portrait often, it was true, since it reminded her a little too much of the Mirror of Erised. The portrait of Dumbledore would no more help her with her grief and questions than the mirror had with her parents. It was only a substitute.

"Do you know where any books about the Hallows are?" Hermione asked him, getting straight to the point. "Ones with Dark rituals would be particularly helpful."

"Hermione!" Ron cried, aghast at her forwardness.

"What? That is what we're looking for."

"But-you can't just, ugh," Ron spluttered. Harry kept her eyes on the portrait, where Dumbledore was regarding them gravely, and shaking his head.

"That was Grindelwald's obsession more than mine, I am afraid," he said, with a deep sigh.

"Damn," Ron cursed.

"That's it?" Harry probed. "You can't think of anything else?"

Dumbledore looked directly at her. "Grindelwald had many friends in the old houses."

"Excellent," Hermione said. "Grimmauld Place, then. I've always wanted to dig through those shelves." She promptly turned to leave.

"Completely nutters," Ron muttered under his breath, as he followed her. Harry stood, still meeting Dumbledore's gaze. It was clear there was something else he wanted to say.

"Did you put my wand back?" Dumbledore said at last.

"Yes," Harry said slowly. She could hear Ron and Hermione, by the door, talking while they waited for her.

Dumbledore hummed thoughtfully, and peered over his half-moon glasses. "What is that delightful muggle phrase? Possession is nine tenths of ownership?" He lifted his eyebrows meaningfully, and then, leaning back in his armchair, assumed the same attitude they had walked in on.

She ought to be used to Dumbledore's inability to get anywhere straightforwardly, Harry thought, as she joined the other two.

"What'd he say?" Ron asked, as they descended the gargoyle staircase.

"We're breaking into his grave," Harry sighed. "Again."

* * *

Phil was taking his turn on watch with Romanova. It was a long, and mostly silent, vigil. Phil amused himself for a good hour by imagining all the ways he might defend himself if all he had was two packs of donettes.

It would be tricky, but he'd only sacrifice the donettes if he absolutely had to.

When Romanova spoke, he nearly jumped, it was so startling.

"What should I expect from Shield?" she asked, as if inquiring about the weather.

"There is some precedent for this," he told her, after his heart had slowed back down. "A lot of paperwork, and a lie detector test. Skills assessment, as well."

She nodded slowly. It was going to be quite the lie detector, Phil knew, having already spoken with Fury. That conversation had gone well.

("Barton's got us the Black Widow," he'd informed Fury.

"You're shitting me."

"Nope. I'm bringing her in, soon as we're done here."

"Fuck," was the Director's eloquent response. "I need a new lie detector."

"Ten bucks says she'll beat it," Phil had said confidently.

Fury had snorted. "You're on.")

"You brought in Clint," Romanov said, interrupting his thoughts. "Do you make a habit of bringing in unknown assets?"

"I have had a very high success rate," he told her, but he wondered if she was asking for someone. There was only one way to find out.

"The Red Room. Who were you working with?" Phil asked, deciding to play into her hand. Romanova shifted her balance.

"A friend," she said. "They called him the Winter Soldier." Phil concealed his surprise. He only knew that name as a rumor. He'd thought it was made up, a cover for the work of multiple people, a larger coordinated group. Apparently he was mistaken.

"And what did you call him?"

"Yasha," she said quietly, her eyes fixed in the distance, and it was the most emotion Phil had heard come from her yet. If she hadn't already asserted that he'd only been a friend, he would have thought they were lovers. He waited an extra second before he asked, "Why did he leave?"

"It was not his choice," she said, defensively. "They came for him, took him back."

Phil glanced over at her, raising an eyebrow. She shook her head.

"I do not know," she admitted. Phil, disappointed, turned back to the thrilling view of the warehouse.

"Potter and Weasley," Romanova said abruptly, ten minutes later.

"What about them?" Phil asked mildly, curious as to where she was going with this.

"I saw their sticks," she said, and Phil stilled. "When they came for Yasha," she continued, her eyes boring deeply into his. Phil knew she wasn't a Legilimens, but she could play one just fine, if she needed to. "One of them had the same. It… did something to him. To his mind. He was compromised."

"How did you get away?" Phil asked. She should have been obliviated after seeing something like that. Romanova frowned.

"He didn't know I was there," she said, and something like regret passed across her face. Perhaps she wished she had revealed herself; fought for her friend.

This was much bigger than Romanova could possibly know. The Winter Soldier was real, under the control of an unknown group who had a wizard in their employ, and Shield hadn't heard about it. They had a lot of catching up to do. Phil sensed a lot of paperwork in his future.

"Thank you," he told Romanova.

"You will look for him?"

"I'll see what I can do," Phil said, but from him, it was as good as a promise.


	6. Agent May's Very Bad Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What are you, and what the hell,” said May, dangerously, “is going on?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I’m so sorry it’s been so long since I updated this story. I had a really tough quarter of grad school, and it’s been hard to find the time. But I’ve finally managed to cook up more of this, so I hope you enjoy it!

Harry looked down at the tomb wearily. She'd sent Hermione and Ron ahead to Grimmauld without her; she was the only one that could do this task.

So close, the white stone gleamed enticingly, and the pull she felt was especially strong now. Her true wand, the Elder Wand, was calling out to her.

Not that the holly and phoenix feather was no longer hers, necessarily, but it was simply... less.

When she had called the wand from Voldemort, in the heat of battle, it had been like a rush. She had abruptly _felt_ a huge influx of magic, rolling through her. It was complete bliss, and she'd known that she could lose herself in it, very quickly. The jolt of her friends' joyous hugs had broken her focus momentarily, and she'd managed to draw herself back from the wand's allure.

In the Great Hall, after what they were already calling the Final Battle (though it was far from the last; many more skirmishes would be fought over the coming weeks as rogue Death Eaters were rounded up), there was finally a lull in the congratulations.

Harry stood alone at last, body trembling minutely. She was exhausted, and yet still felt as if she were brimming with energy. The Elder Wand was in her hand, knuckles white with the force of her grip.

She'd thought about breaking the wand, as it buzzed beneath her fingers. She'd thought about it for all of half a second, and then the instinctively visceral reaction she'd felt in herself had told her that it would be a very bad idea.

"If it were me, I'd want a little space," Luna had said, appearing suddenly beside her.

"That – that would be nice," Harry had said, dazed.

"I'll distract them," she'd said, and then paused, glancing momentarily at the wand. "You can put it back where it was, for now. It's not time yet."

Harry had nodded slowly, caught by the passing resemblance of Luna's eyes to those of Trelawney's, when she'd made that prophecy right in front of her, in third year. It was gone in a blink, however, and Luna had turned, crying out something about Blibbering Humdingers, whatever those were.

Harry had made her exit.

Now she was back and couldn't help feeling like she'd somehow made a circle.

Harry breathed out slowly and lifted the holly and phoenix feather wand. She'd redone the wards on the tomb herself, the day of the final battle, and it took a mere flick for the stone to slide away.

A murmuring arose from the small crowd of students gathered a few paces behind her. The Quidditch game had finished as she'd walked out, and she'd been unable to avoid the attention. She had managed to get a perimeter ward up before they ventured too close, however, so there wouldn't be any interference.

Without any further internal dithering, she stepped forward to the edge of the tomb, reached down, and took the wand.

Just like the first time, she could feel a wave of power crash over her, but she gritted her teeth. She wouldn't let it sweep her away this time.

If this was what she had to get used to, she resolved, she would do it.

Glancing back at the crowd of students, she silently apologized to McGonagall, and twisted.

* * *

Phil awoke to the second beep of the three-beep alert on his communicator. He was immediately wide awake and snagged the receiver from the bedside table.

"Talk to me," he said quickly, glancing over to see Romanova sitting alertly, like she'd never even been asleep.

"It's Barton," May's voice crackled back down the line. Phil sighed. Of course it was Barton.

"Where is he?"

"That's it. I don't know."

A trickle of uneasiness made its way down Phil's spine. "From the top, May," he ordered.

"He went to find a better perch, oh, ten minutes ago? His comm line cut out a few minutes ago. He hasn't opened it up again or given me any signal he's alright." There was a pause. "He should have by now."

Phil knew May; knew her tells and her mannerisms, and he knew this was terrifying her.

"Stay put," he said, in his best reassuring handler voice. "I'm coming to you."

"Copy that," May said, and Phil heard her stark relief bleeding through the comms.

He looked up, catching Romanova's eye, and she stood immediately. There was a glint in her eye that he recognized, and he didn't have to say a thing to know she understood.

They exited the hotel room in perfect unison.

* * *

It was drizzling steadily by the time they reached May, and Phil was glad he'd thought to have his suits charmed to be water-repellent.

"He wanted to see if that rooftop was better," May told them, pointing toward a rooftop to the north. "He cracked a joke approximately one minute after he left, and then I heard nothing. Static on the comms. Whoever it was, they were good enough to get the jump on him."

Phil nodded slowly. They probably wouldn't find anything, if, as he suspected, their Dark wizards had snatched Clint, but it was never wise to assume a crime scene was completely clean.

"Will you be alright here?"

The only sign that Romanova was startled by the question was an extra blink.

"Yes," she said.

"Good. Lead the way, May," Phil said. She did so eagerly, clearly anxious to figure out who had taken Clint.

As he'd feared, there was no physical evidence to be found. May fumed silently as he reached inside his jacket pocket for the business card.

"I don't suppose this means we'll be read in on them yet?" she asked, glaring at the card in his hand, and clearly irritated about the secrets revolving around their mission.

"That's really up to Potter," Phil said, focusing on the blank card. As he spoke her name, however, there was a noise like a gunshot, and a figure in black robes appeared, stumbling, not five meters away. May's hand flew to her gun.

"Merlin's most baggy y-fronts!" Harry cursed colorfully, glaring at the wand in her hand, and then, looking up and noticing them, said cheerfully, "Oh, hello Phil. Agent May."

"What are you, and what the hell," said May, dangerously, "is going on?"

"I'm… not sure, actually," Phil said, slowly. He hadn't even sent his message yet.

"I'm afraid I'm not sure how I ended up here, either," Harry admitted, pushing back her hair. "But as to your other question, Agent May," and she smiled sharply at Phil's second-in-command, "I'm a witch."

"A witch," May said, flatly.

"Yes, that's right," Harry said, smiling.

"You got permission from the Minister?" Phil asked, surprised. Harry coughed guiltily, and he raised an eyebrow at her reproachfully.

"I'm Harry Potter?" She tried, weakly. He only looked at her more sternly. "It'll be fine, Phil, really."

"I'd prefer to not have my agents obliviated," he told her.

"They won't be," Harry said. "Not if I have anything to do with it."

Phil nodded sharply, accepting her reassurance. May was looking back and forth between them, visibly confused. Phil opened his mouth to explain, but she held a finger up.

"Is there anything I need to know right now?" she asked. "Because I'd really rather focus on finding Barton."

"Barton?" Harry asked in surprise. "What happened to your archer?"

"Our ritual killers are Dark wizards," Phil told May, and then, turning to Harry, "and Barton disappeared approximately thirty minutes ago."

"From this location?" asked Harry, her stance becoming more serious. At Phil's nod, she frowned, and began casting spells.

"Dark wizards," May said incredulously, watching as various colored jets of light sprung from Harry's wand. "Really?"

"Welcome to the wizarding world, Agent May."


End file.
